


Almost Human

by livingwithmermaids



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Ghost Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Triggers, Very Slight Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:57:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingwithmermaids/pseuds/livingwithmermaids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legend has it that John Smith was a evil man. Everyone knew Dean Smith was a victim of his psychopathic father, but no one ever had the time or courage to do anything about it. Now, a century later, the story goes that Dean Smith went into a rage, killing his father, and then himself. People figured it served him right. </p><p>They just got the story wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Human

**Author's Note:**

> All warnings are only described, not actually played out. I'm really sorry, I have no fucking idea what I did here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 24th, 2014

 

TEENAGERS FOUND MURDERED IN INFAMOUS OLD SMITH HOUSE

 

_Today, two teenagers were found brutally slaughtered in the Old Smith House, the manor rumored to be haunted by the spirit of Dean Smith, the only child of the home's owner, John Smith._

 

_The house is famous in our town of Lawrence, Kansas. The legend goes that when children go into the house, they don't normally come out, and this isn't the first time the legend has seemed to have been proven true._

 

_The same day last year, a man who had also reportedly gone to explore the Old Smith House was also found dead in the basement on January 24th, the day Dean Smith was rumored to have escaped his father's torturous grasp and murdered him, killing himself afterward._

 

_As of now, police have no suspects in custody, but they believe whoever the killer is, they are honoring the legend, the last two murders landing on the most significant date in the old story. Hopefully, these murders will stop anyone from meeting their fate in the Old Smith House._

 

  _~o~_

 

January 24th, 2015

 

The house was old and broken, and Sam could smell the scent of wet, rotted wood from the car. He glanced around the empty, dead field and sighed when he spotted a silver car parked directly in front of the house. Sam shook his head in annoyance.

 

"Stupid kids." He muttered under his breath, gathering his gun and his flashlight, hauling his duffle bag over his shoulder. Instinctively, he surveyed the grass, looking for threats and searching for graves.

 

He knew looking for the latter was pointless. According to lore, Dean Smith's body was burned by a family member who hoped to cover up the shameful murders. Not burned well, -people don't know how difficult it is to burn a body covered in flesh- but burned all the same. Sam suspected it was the necklace he saw Dean Smith wearing in most of the pictures he'd seen that was keeping him here.

 

Sam shook his head again and gently pushed open the door, wincing at the creak it made. It seemed to shake the whole house.

 

Quietly, he got his gun ready and he slowly moved around the house, jumping more than he'd like to admit when rats scurried across the floor.

 

"-this is it, this is it!"

 

Sam whipped around as the quiet voice drifted from an air vent. He stilled and listened, straining to hear the voice again so he could find the kids and get them out of the house before the troubled Smith boy could slit their throats.

 

"Is that the necklace?"

 

"It's an amulet, genius!"

 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows as the voice filtered the vent. He quickly calculated the route the basement and hurried down the hall and to a staircase that Sam wouldn't dare use if he didn't have to.

 

He carefully trekked down the stairs and stepped onto the dirty cement floor. He pointed his flashlight around the room and stopped as the beam caught the shape of to boys with frightened eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge.

 

"FBI. You kids can't be here. Go home. Now."

 

"Yessir." The boy's muttered the name as they scrambled up and brushed the dust from their jeans. As they hurried past him, Sam caught the silhouette of a necklace dangling from one of the boy's hands. He gripped the boy's shoulder.

 

"What you got there?"

 

The boy's eyes widened and he put his hands behind his back, looking everywhere but him.

 

"Nothing."

 

Sam sighed and kneeled to look at the boy. "I'm a federal agent, kid. I know when someone's lying. Whatever you're holding, I want it. Or I can make this much more difficult for everyone." Sam held out his hand.

 

"Oh, just give it to him David." The other boy looked desperate to get out of Sam's presence. "We need to go. Curfews in an hour."

 

David huffed and dropped it in Sam's hand, running to meet his friend. They bolted up the stairs, the wood creaking dangerously.

 

Sam rolled his eyes and studied the object in his hands. It was the necklace. The strange one he had seen on an unsmiling Dean Smith in almost all the photos of him. He looked up from the necklace and surveyed the basement. His eyes widened at what he saw.

 

Dried blood covered the floor and the walls, the stains now a rusty brown color. Knives and metal pokers were line up perfectly on a large table, along with bloody clothes full of holes. What made Sam want to throw up, however, were the shackles bolted to the floor. Sam bent down to inspect the chains closer and gagged at the skin and blood covering the sides of the cuffs. He felt an overwhelming surge of pity for Dean Smith.

 

_Poor guy. Sick son of a bitch chained his son to the fucking basement floor and tortured him. Makes me sick._

 

Sam huffed and stood, kicking the shackles away from him. He exhaled loudly and froze as his breath came in big, white puffs. He shivered from the sudden cold. He dropped the necklace and slowly got his shotgun ready to shoot. He spun around and pointed it at the intruder.

 

Dean Smith had green eyes. It was the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed was the large cut on his throat. gushing blood on his shirt and making his head hang back unnaturally. Dean Smith swayed as he stared at Sam, and he almost dropped his gun as his face changed.

 

Dean Smith's clean-shaven face twisted as bruises formed and cuts reopened, causing more blood to drip down his body. Burns grew on his arms and his skin cracked, and one of his clear green eyes bounced as it hit the ground. A finger even fell from his hand and rolled across the floor.

 

Dean Smith groaned and took an awkward step forward, a limp obvious in his walk.

 

Sam raised his gun and fired. Dean Smith disintegrated as the salt hit him. Sam threw the necklace on the ground and dug through his bag, making a triumphant noise as he pulled out his gas can. He poured the gasoline on the necklace and did the same with the salt. He took his lighter and struggled to flick it on.

 

"No!"

 

Sam's head snapped up as the voice cut through the air. Dean Smith was standing a few feet in front of him, face good as new again except for the cut in his throat. Sam willed the lighter to light as Dean Smith limped forward.

 

"No, stop!"

 

Sam dropped the lighter and readied his gun, shooting the ghost point blank in the chest.

 

Sam abandoned the lighter and dug in his pocket for his matches. He fumbled with the flimsy match and gasped in relief as it lit immediately. He was three seconds from dropping the match when he was thrown across the room and the match was snuffed out by an invisible force. His shotgun skidded across the floor and it echoed as it hit the wall. Sam struggled to move as Dean Smith appeared in front of him with his hand up, keeping him in place, and a desperate look on his face.

 

"J-just listen to me!"

 

Dean Smith looked like he was close to crying. Sam almost laughed at the irony. Sam _was_ one pinned in place by a homicidal poltergeist. If anyone should be crying, it would be him.

 

"Listen!" Dean Smith's look of desperation was replaced by a look of anger and the flung Sam across the room, making him fly into the table with the knives. He struggled to sit up as Dean Smith towered over him. He held his hands in surrender.

 

"Okay! Okay, I'll listen!"

 

The angry tension in the room almost instantly disappeared, and Dean Smith's anger turned to fear.

 

"I-I tried. I-I-I tried, I promise. B-but I can't. I can't stop him. I can't, I can't, I can't-"

 

Sam slowly stood, keeping his arms up and open. "What do you mean? Stop who?"

 

Dean Smith averted his eyes to the ground and shook his head, taking small steps backwards. "It's not me. It's not me."

 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows and move towards Dean Smith. "It's... not you?"

 

"I didn't do it. It's not me." Dean looked up at Sam, looking like he was going to burst into tears any moment when everything stopped and his head snapped to look at the ceiling. He whimpered and moved back, hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor. _"He's here."_

 

 

Sam glanced at his shotgun, which was still laying on the ground to his right. He almost made a dive for it when he was pinned against the wall, a large, angry man, placing a hand on Sam's neck. Sam thrashed as the man lifted his other hand and raised a bloody butcher knife over his head, ready to swing.

 

"Don't you disrespect me, boy!"

 

"No!"

 

Sam gasped in air as the pressure on his neck was suddenly gone. He coughed and struggled at move his arms and legs. He moved his head and spotted the gun close to his foot. So close yet so far. He would have jumped if he could as Dean Smith stopped in front of him and growled.

 

"Don't you hurt him!"

 

The angry man scowled and looked ready to chop Dean Smith's head off. "You move out of my way bitch, or I'll-"

 

"No! I'm not you, I'm not you! I don't deserve it! I don't, I don't!"

 

Sam watched with wide eyes as Dean Smith pounced on the angry man, the man howling as Dean Smith shot through him and Dean Smith racing towards his bag. The angry man growled as he ran at Dean Smith, who disappeared right as the angry man hit the wall, touching the iron shackles and vanishing. Sam grunted as he was released, and he scrambled to his bag, gathering his salt, gas, and matches. He looked at Dean Smith.

 

"Where are his bones?"

 

Dean Smith pointed to a corner and Sam raced to the skeleton, pouring gas and salt on the rotting bones. He glanced over his shoulder to see Dean Smith pounced on the angry man. They both fell to the ground and he caught Dean Smith eyes. He gave a firm nod and dropped the match.

 

The angry man screamed as his bones burned.

 

Dean Smith slowly rose, limping his way towards Sam. He stopped a few inches away from him and then wrapped his arms around him. Sam gasped at the feeling of cold air surrounding him. Dean Smith put his mouth to Sam's ear and hooked his fingers in Sam's pocket.

 

"I told you it wasn't me."

 

Sam opened his eyes to find Dean Smith had disappeared, the Old Smith House quiet and peaceful for the first time in god knows how long. Sam turned back to the burning bones and bowed his head in respect.

 

"Thank you, Dean."

 

~o~

 

The ride back to the motel was exhausting. Every bone in his body ached and he felt like shit in general.

 

He sighed sadly as the thought about the two teenagers he had sent home. After the bones of the angry man were completely burned, he quickly climbed up the stairs and hurried to the door, only to find two bodies twisted and mutilated, same as the other murders that had been committed in the Old Smith House. He covered the bodies with an only dirty blanket and looked away before the blood could seem through the fabric.

 

Sam yawned as he jammed his key in the motel room lock and threw his bag in the general direction of the table. He slowly made his way his bed when a picture caught his eye.

 

It was grainy, and out of focus, but the faces were still easy to recognize. Dean Smith sat in a thin metal chair, his smile fake, and his eyes full of terror. John Smith stood to his left, arm around his shoulders and his smile more of a scowl.

 

_The angry man._

 

Sam gave a surprised chuckle and let the photograph flutter to the table. He groaned as he flopped on his bed and curled into a ball.

 

He fell asleep with Dean Smith's emerald eyes burning into his brain.

 

~o~

 

The first thing Sam noticed was it was cold. Colder than it should be in a motel room, even without a heater blasting. Sam shivered as he kicked the blankets off of him and his feet touched the floor.

 

The second this he noticed was Dean Smith staring at him from the foot of the bed, arms to his sides and eyes unblinking.

 

"Holy shit!"

 

Sam nearly fell to the floor, and he could see Dean jump and take a large step back. Sam blindly reached for the salt he kept on the nightstand and practically threw the whole container at Dean. Dean disappeared without a fuss.

 

Sam scrambled for his clothing and started digging in his pockets. His jeans, his shirt, all empty. Sam spotted his jacket and dived for it, jamming his hands in his pockets. He gasped in relief as his fingers grazed the necklace. His mind went back to the hug Dean gave him. His hands in his pockets. _The necklace_.

 

Sam pulled it out and through it to the floor, grabbing his salt and pouring whatever was left on the necklace. He twisted around and gripped the strap of his bag and pulled it towards him. He got out his gas can and popped the lid off, getting ready to cover the necklace with accelerant.

 

"Wait!"

 

Sam's head immediately snapped towards the voice. Dean was standing a few feet from him, hands out and a pleading look on his face.

 

"Please! Don't burn it. Don't burn it."

 

Sam just stared at him, gas can still hovering over the necklace. Dean stepped forward.

 

"I'm not bad. I'm not. I just wanted to see you. I wanted to explain."

 

Sam slowly set the can down, the liquid sloshing as it was righted and placed on the floor.

 

"Explain?"

 

Dean nodded furiously. "I'm not him. I'm not a killer. I'm not, I'm not."

 

Sam straightened and held his hands out in defense. "I know it wasn't you. You told me to listen, and I did."

 

"You did. But the story, it's not true. I'm not a monster, see?" Dean held out his arm, and Sam watched as a burn slowly formed. Two red scars twisted and grew until they spelled out two letters.

 

_JS. John Smith._

 

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Your dad?"

 

Dean nodded sadly and stared at the burn. "It wasn't me. It wasn't me."

 

Sam let out a breath and dropped on a creaky motel chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you want, Dean? What could you possibly want from me?"

 

"To know the truth. I'm not a killer."

 

Sam looked at Dean with narrowed eyes. "Why? I know the truth. I know you didn't hurt anyone. And I'm sorry people think that you have, but you need to let go. You need to stop."

 

Dean shook his head and watched Sam with glassy eyes. "You don't know the whole truth. You don't know anything. Let me tell you the truth. Then I can go. I want to go."

 

 

 

~o~

 

Sam and Dean sat across from each other. Dean sitting hunched over and eyes down, Sam sitting with his back straight and his shotgun in his lap. They'd been sitting there for at least twenty minutes, Dean refusing to speak and Sam getting close to burning the necklace. Dean sighed and looked at Sam through his eyelashes.

 

"My name is Dean Alexander Smith." Dean looked at Sam with a look of expectation on his face. Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

 

"My name is Sam Winchester."

 

Dean nodded as he took in the name. "Samuel means _God had heard_."

 

"Oh." Sam watched as Dean played with his fingers. "What does Dean mean?"

 

"May I see my amulet?" Dean suddenly looked up at Sam, his hand opening and arm outstretched. "Please."

 

Sam stood and bent down to grab the amulet. He shook the salt and wiped away the gasoline, placing it in Dean's hand when he was sure it was safe. Dean held it gently as he turned it over and traced his finger along the charm.

 

"I was given this when I was six years old." Dean clenched the amulet in his fist, knuckles turning white. "My father gave it to me the first time he beat me."

 

Sam ducked his head as the amulet was thrown across the room, the impact of it on the wall leaving a dent. Sam looked at Dean in disbelief.

 

"Dude!"

 

Dean's eyes were wide and scared like he was surprised he had that kind of rage. He quickly lowered his head and put his hands in his lap.

 

"I'msorrysir." The words were said quickly, and Dean seemed to be trying to get as small as possible. Sam sighed.

 

"It's okay man. You just startled me."

 

Dean glanced at Sam through hooded eyes and slowly lifted his head. "Father used to make me call him Sir."

 

That made Sam's stomach turn. He opened his mouth and spoke gently. "If you don't mind me asking... when were you born?"

 

"I was born January 24th, 1904."

 

"That's the day they say you killed your father."

 

Dean's mouth twisted into a sad smile. "I never said all of it was untrue."

 

Sam tilted his head in confusion. "Does that mean you did kill your father?"

 

"No!" Dean's face turned angry, and the aura in the room changed to murderous. "I _never_ killed anyone. It was _him_ who was the murderer. He killed me! I wanted to live!"

 

Sam flinched as Dean's voice got louder and louder, and the air around them seemed to have a life of its own.

 

"Dean, man, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

 

Dean seemed to calm immediately, the tension leaving the room with ease. "He sliced my throat with his butcher knife."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"I am too."

 

Sm felt real pity for the guy. Have his father beat him and murder him, while the man never hurt a fly. It must have been horrible for him.

 

"When I first saw you, you were covered in cuts and bruises. Was that-"

 

"Yes." Dean picked at his skin, not even flinching as he scratched enough to draw blood. Sam looked away.

 

"Quit pickin' at that."

 

Dean stopped immediately. They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. When he spoke, Dean's voice cut through the air like a knife.

 

"My father first raped me when I was twelve. I was in the basement by then."

 

"The basement?"

 

"You saw the shackles, didn't you?"

 

Sam nodded.

 

"They were for me. I was locked in there until I was twenty-four."

 

Sam resisted the urge to gag. "What about your mom?"

 

"My mother was an evil bitch. It was her idea to lock me in the basement. She wanted to snuff the child who brought out the evil urges in her husband. She wanted me dead. And now she can burn in Hell."

 

Sam almost told Dean that Hell was real. To give him reassurance that the evil were punished and the good were rewarded, but he stayed silent. "I'm sorry this stuff happened to you."

 

"It's the reason I'm still here."

 

"Do you want to leave?"

 

"I want my suffering to end. And leaving is the only way it can stop."

 

"What's keeping you here besides the truth?"

 

"My father."

 

Sam leaned forward and intertwined his fingers together. "Why aren't you evil?"

 

Dean's eyes squinted in confusion. "Excuse me?"

 

"Normally when a person is a poltergeist like you, it's because they're angry, and they can't let go. You have the perfect excuse to be angry and evil. Why aren't you?"

 

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "For many years, I was the prisoner of my own home, even after death. I couldn't be... evil, even if I wanted to. Now... I am just so, very, very, very tired. I have no more energy to be evil. I can't be my father. I tried so very hard to warn the people who snuck into my father's home. But they were afraid. And I watched my father slaughter them like he slaughtered me."

 

Dean had tears falling down his face, sliding down the bridge of his nose and over his chin. It made Sam's heart ache. He tentatively spoke.

 

"Why did you try so hard to save me?"

 

Dean smiled, it was almost genuine. "You remind me of someone I once knew. A dearest friend, a brother. One I had when I was just an infant. I didn't want to see you die."

 

Dean stood and kneeled before Sam, and let his hand gently caress Sam's cheek. It felt like air covering Sam like a blanket. He let out a shuddering breath.

 

"What was his name?"

 

Dean smiled again. A large, bright, hopeful smile.

 

"I'll see you in Heaven, Sam Winchester."

 

And Dean Smith disappeared in a beautiful flash of light.

 

 


End file.
